


Between Sheets

by tinsnip



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deep Dish Nine, Fluffy, In Bed, Love, M/M, Post Canon Cardassia, Post-Canon, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two vignettes involving rather a lot of warm bed snuggling. The first is set in the alternate universe of Deep Dish Nine, the second on post-canon Cardassia.</p><p>Backbone provided by Imogen Heap's <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/ellipse/id322447564">"Between Sheets,"</a> which I am remarkably weak against. If you like the fic and you like the lyrics, please buy the song. Heck, buy the whole album; it's killer.</p><p>The DD9 vignette uses Lady Yate-Xel's Julian and Elim, and is not part of their "canon"; it's just an idea.</p><p>Translations of Kardasi provided as hovertext.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deep Dish Nine

_you and me between the sheets_  
 _it just doesn't get better than this_  
 _the many windswept yellow stickies of my mind_  
 _are the molten emotional front line_  
 _i couldn't care less, i'm transfixed in this absolute bliss_

* * *

He jolts awake, _something is different, something is wrong_ —

Oh. Well, then. Of course something is different. But nothing at all is wrong.

He’s half-dressed in only undergarments and an undershirt; it’s not the image he typically likes to present. A bedside lamp that’s not his own is shining from the floor, and he’s lying on a bed that scarcely deserves the name; quite frankly, it seems much more likely to have been designed as some kind of subtle torture device. Can it be possible for a mattress to adjust itself to provide minimum comfort? Could the lumps within it actually be moving, so that no matter which way he lies, something is prodding him as unpleasantly as possible?

He’d hardly have credited it, but here’s the evidence: every part of him aches.

Mercies, _every_ part of him aches. He is sorely out of practice. _Ah, well, must get back in the game_ , and he smiles to himself in a way he’d never allow anyone else to see, feeling the stretch of his mouth, the slow slip of his eyelids, the slightest movement of his ears as he smiles wide, wide.

If Julian ever saw him smile like this, he’d never hear the end of it. 

It’s a good thing, then, that Julian is out absolutely, completely cold. He’s sprawled across the bed on top of the sheets, stark naked, arms and legs akimbo, and if Garak wasn’t so thoroughly and ridiculously besotted, he’d no doubt frown at the immodesty. _Dear me,_ he might say. Perhaps he’d tut. He may have to do so anyway, once Julian awakens. One must keep the image up, after all. For now, though…

_Ah_ _…_

There are post-it notes all over the bed, mostly rather crumpled, now. There’s one stuck to Julian’s shoulder. It says _anticholinergic._ That’s a pretty word. He mouths it to himself, smiles absently. Julian had been studying, apparently; perhaps the notes had been arranged in some kind of meaningful pattern, once upon a time…? A pity they’ve been so thoroughly disturbed. Perhaps Garak should have tried to steer things more towards the awful sofa in the living room…? Then again, Julian hadn’t objected at all to messing things up a little, had he, as he’d tugged Garak down with urgent sounds and grasping hands and a mouth that had demanded immediate attention—

He sighs to himself. What pleasant memories he has to occupy himself with this… Hmm. _Evening?_

There’s no clock in Julian’s bedroom, but his phone is resting on the end of the bed; Julian’s fortunate it wasn’t swept to the floor along with his textbooks. Garak reaches carefully, toggles it on, and mercies, is that the time? **1:32 AM** glows at him in the half-darkness. That means he’s been asleep for… mmm, an hour, perhaps? He hadn’t exactly been keeping track of time, earlier…

_I slept._

That gives him a moment’s pause. It’s not an entirely happy thought.

_That is not a safe thing to do._

He knows better than to let himself be at all vulnerable. That’s how one ends up compromised or dead.

Well, Julian’s unlikely to try to kill him. But oh, as Julian frowns in his sleep, as a long-fingered hand closes tight and pretty toes twitch, Garak cannot deny that he is very much compromised.

_Is this going to be a problem, Elim?_

_Oh, probably_ _…_

But probably isn’t something he can control, and at this moment it’s not even something he particularly wants to. At this moment he has no hard surfaces, no slicing-sharp edge; at this moment he flows slow and lazy with sated desire, and all he wants to do is watch the gentle rise and fall of Julian’s breathing, the flickering movement of his eyes beneath closed lids, the faint hints of expression that cross his face as he dreams whatever perfect people dream.

He’s transfixed by the twitch of Julian’s lips. Is he speaking? _Who could he be talking to?_ He’s definitely dreaming; his face is moving subtly, his brows draw down, and now there’s a hitch of breath. It doesn’t seem like a very nice dream.

_A pity. He deserves only the sweetest dreams._

Cloying. True, though. And what can Garak do…?

_The only thing I can do._

First of all, he very gently pushes himself up, leans over, grabs the bedsheet between thumb and finger and tugs it swiftly, lightly up over Julian, and then he slips himself underneath it too. Slowly, slowly he reaches over, lets an arm drape over Julian’s chest; his other hand finds its rest under Julian’s shoulder, and he tips his head sideways, fits himself as best he can into the angle of shoulder and neck. Through it all, Julian doesn’t stir. _Ah, the sleep of the innocent_ _…_

 _Well, the mostly innocent, anyway._ Talented young man… but that’s not helpful, not now, not when he wants to encourage blissful, peaceful sleep. He lies there next to Julian, holding him awkwardly in his arms, resting his head against Julian’s shoulder. He wants to whisper; he makes do with thought.

_Rest easy, my dear. I will keep you safe. No one will hurt you with me here. Not now, not ever. And if anyone ever does find a way to hurt you, I will make them pay._

Those are probably not words Julian would find reassuring, but they’re the ones Garak finds within himself, and strangely, Julian is quieting next to him; the irregularity of his breathing has smoothed itself out, and his limbs are still. He’s sleeping now, really sleeping, and Garak is awake, watching the world, keeping him safe.

He won’t sleep tonight, not anymore. That’s all right. He’s got better things to do.


	2. Post-canon Cardassia

_ooh, sweet sleepless tumbling night_  
 _oh, and the morning on your skin and loved up light_  
 _tracing patterns in the maze of your back_  
 _softly, softly, the goosebumps like that_  
 _and then a kiss, maybe another, and another one_

* * *

“Could you just move over a little, do you think…?”

“Done with me so soon?”

“It’s not that, darling, it’s just… you know…”

“Oh, dear. Well, yes; come on over, then…”

And he rolls over away from the mess they’ve made, over into strong arms, and he’s permitted to collapse himself on a broad chest, to rest his ear against the junction between Theniaz and Chula, to slip his arms down along scaled sides, to press himself up against his husband absolutely everywhere he can. Oh, he’s lovely and cool to the touch, and Julian’s skin pops up in tiny goosebumps at the feel of the slight friction of that skin against his own; at the rough texture of those hips, pressed against his by the weight of his own body; at how his surprisingly delicate feet feel against Julian’s calloused soles if Julian curls his legs up just so. He’s familiar, he’s just right, and Julian has missed this, even though it's not been all that long...

Elim’s voice echoes his thoughts, musing. “How long has it been since we’ve done this, my dear?”

He frowns. “A week. Come on, it was brief, but it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“No, no,” and Elim’s laughing, “that’s not what I meant. How long since we’ve had an entire night to ourselves?”

 _Ah,_ and yes, that’s rather different… Well, it’s not hard to figure, is it? Essim’s just turned five, had his big celebration, graduated from the family bed, and since he’d first turned their lives upside down at about two years of age… “Three years, give or take.”

“Give or take?”

“All right, fine. Two years, two hundred and eight days. If you’d like I can give you hours.”

“I’m flattered that you’ve paid such close attention.”

“Don’t be. Can’t help it.”

“Still,” and he feels the shift of muscle and tendon as Elim lifts his head and shoulders, straining slightly, to place a kiss on the top of his head. He smiles against Elim’s skin.

“It is rather nice to have the bed to ourselves again… It’s funny, though. I miss him.”

“He’s just down the hall. You can go see him if you like.”

“Yeah,” and he laughs to himself, feels Elim laugh with him, “and you can tag along with me. Again. We are really pathetic.”

“Oh,” and Elim makes a tutting sound, “we are simply caring parents.”

“He’s just so sweet, though. I miss his little arms ’round my neck.”

“Little arms indeed. I can’t count the number of times you’ve complained to me about being half-smothered by him.”

“Oh, he means well. He just likes to cuddle up to me.”

“Of course he does. You’re warm. Cardassians like warmth,” and Elim’s hands stroke up and down his back, pressing just below his shoulders, working down his spine, and he smiles, eyes closing.

“Mmm. That feels nice.”

“Good. I’ll keep doing it.”

“I’m not going to get any sleep at all, am I.”

That nets him a softly exasperated sigh; he enjoys how it reverberates through Elim’s chest. “If you wanted to sleep, you shouldn’t have woken me up.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Of course I don’t. Come up here.”

Obligingly, he lifts himself up, slides up a little, bends himself down for a kiss. They both taste like early morning, and that’s fine; Julian’s stubble is probably very scratchy, and that’s fine; Elim’s hand twists in the hair at the nape of his neck, and that’s fine, fine, fine. He sighs against Elim’s mouth, feels him smile.

“I’m not going to be good for anything at all today…”

“Poor doctor. Be strong.”

“I’ll try. Heartless of you, really, to keep me awake to satisfy your own twisted desires.”

“Mmm, I am cruel, aren’t I?”

“Awful. Roll over.”

“My goodness.”

“No, not like that—God, I’m exhausted. Just roll over, I want to spoon with you.”

There’s a rustle of sheets as they try to arrange themselves, a hand here, a leg there; it’s a bit of a struggle to unravel themselves from the bed, from each other, and Julian smiles at Elim’s face, tired and happy in the early morning light. Eventually they settle down again, Elim on his side, Julian tucked in behind him, and now he can press his nose to the nape of Elim’s neck and breathe deep, deep.

“Ah…”

“Good?”

“Very. Shh…”

Elim makes that pleased near-purr of his and presses back against him, and it’s snug and comfortable and very, very good. He lets his hands wander over Elim’s shoulder ridges, gently, gently, then traces his fingers through the patterned scaling of his mec’hUt. “So pretty, Elim…”

“So you’ve said…”

“Tired of hearing it?”

“Not remotely.”

He presses kiss after kiss against those cool scales, breathes in the wet-forest scent of Elim, slips his arms around his torso and squeezes tight; his hands are grasped tightly, squeezed in their turn.

“I love you very much, you know.”

“I love you too, my dear.”

“Thanks for doing this with me.”

“Doing what, exactly…? Tonight? Because believe me, no thanks are required—”

“No, not tonight… just… this. All of this.” He frees one hand, gestures at the little house around them, taking in their lives, their world, their son sleeping down the hall. “Thank you. It’s better with you.”

There’s no reply, but Elim recaptures his hand and pulls Julian tight against him, crossing his arms over his belly; Julian presses in, kisses his back hard, hugs him as close as he can—

“FaTh’ur?” Plaintive and small, then a pause, and both of them are holding their breath…

“Yadik? FaTh’ur?” Now a thump of small feet hitting the floor, and suddenly they’re both moving as quickly as they can, Julian tugging on his sleep shorts, Elim slipping into his shift—

A small head peers ‘round the doorframe, assesses them. “Are you awake?”

“More or less,” and Julian finds both amusement and irritation welling up in his voice. “What are you doing out of bed, Essim?”

“I’ve slept enough. I’m ready to get up now.”

“It’s far too early to be awake. It’s,” he glances at the chrono, “it’s barely five-thirty.”

“You’re both awake.” He blinks up at them, hunched awkwardly on the bed. “Why can’t I be?”

“He has you there, my dear.” Elim’s terribly amused.

“You’re not helping. Look,” and he pushes himself down from the bed, crosses the floor, kneels down next to his son and cups his face in one hand, “how about you go back to bed, and I’ll come read you a book in, say, half an hour, all right?”

Essim considers this, finds it acceptable; his nod is solemn. “All right, FaTh’ur. Yadik, will you come too?”

“If I’m permitted.” Elim’s tone is teasing, and Essim frowns at him.

“Are you in trouble?”

A sigh of mild exasperation from Elim, who has apparently still not internalized that his son has almost no sense of humour. “I’m joking. Of course I’ll come too.”

“Good. You can do the voices.” That’s settled, it seems, and Essim makes his child’s bow and heads back down the hall, feet slapping gently on the tile.

Julian sighs and collapses back on to the bed, mindful of where exactly he lands. “Little tyrant.”

“Because you allow it, my dear.” Elim sits next to him, smiles down at him.

“I suppose I do.” He purses his lips. “Doesn’t take no for an answer, though, does he?”

“I cannot imagine where he gets that from,” and Elim leans over, kisses his forehead, and Julian reaches up to him, slides his arms around his neck, keeps him close.

“Half an hour.”

“Mmm.”

“Just enough time for a shower.”

“Just enough time…?”

“Always takes a bit longer if you come in too.”

“Ah.” A little nod, and Elim’s eyes are smiling. “Lead on.”


End file.
